


a little more touch my body

by pendules



Series: not at all casual [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, in a new and unexpected development in this saga: adam and ronan also have No Chill about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The room feels too small, almost claustrophobic, but Ronan makes every room feel like that. He's always painfully, viscerally aware of him, his body, every single movement and gesture and subtle shift in expression, even when he's not touching him or looking at him like <i>that</i> or about to take all his clothes off.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little more touch my body

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a continuation of _[breathe you in every single day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7268509)_ , but there's really no plot to be found here so it can probably be read on its own.
> 
> This is the longest sex scene I've ever written and I still don't actually know what I'm doing and it's probably terrible. I have no self-control. Sorry.

He feels deceptively calm this time when he opens his apartment door and turns the light on before closing it behind Ronan. He slowly turns around, his back to the door, and Ronan's just casually standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked into his pockets, looking like he would be content staying right there all night. He takes a deep breath in, tries to shake away any lingering nerves, reassures himself that it's not a big deal and takes his time going through the motions like it's just any other night: he puts his keys on the desk, shrugs his jacket off and carefully hangs it on the back of his chair, takes his shoes off and rests them out of the doorway. When he looks up, Ronan's tossing his jacket off his shoulders in a manner he obviously thinks makes him look cool and nonchalant, leaving it where it falls before gracelessly kicking his boots off and adding them to the pile. It almost feels like an intentionally annoying action meant to lighten the mood and he feels an involuntary tug of something like fond exasperation at the corners of his lips. He would tell him off for making a mess in literally any other situation but he can't be bothered at this exact moment.

But then Ronan turns back around to look at him and they just stare at each other for what seems like a long time. And it's not just another night anymore. It feels too bright, suddenly, like he's giving everything away, with his eyes and the taut line of his shoulders and his hands tightly clenched at his sides, nails sinking into his palms. The room feels too small, almost claustrophobic, but Ronan makes every room feel like that. He's always painfully, viscerally aware of him, his body, every single movement and gesture and subtle shift in expression, even when he's not touching him or looking at him like _that_ or about to take all his clothes off. His skin feels warm all over, tingling and tight and oppressive, unable to contain all this raw energy surging up inside of him.

He wonders if they're making this more awkward by waiting instead of _doing_. Nothing they've done so far has felt awkward, though, only natural, instinctive, completely _right_. Taking this part of it slow feels that way too. Working up to it. Acknowledging the threshold of this new kind of intimacy between them as something real and significant, because it _is_. 

He's about to say something when he sees a flicker in Ronan's eyes, like a realisation, a decision, and before he can decipher it, Ronan's muttering, "Fuck it," under his breath and then he's crossing the space and gently but purposefully shoving him back against the door, his hands on his hips, his lips on his lips.

He tilts his chin up into the kiss, surrendering himself completely to it, to his _want_ , to Ronan's body pressed against his own everywhere he can feel. His head falls back against the wood as Ronan thoroughly claims his mouth with his own, letting him dictate the pace. He exhales slowly against his lips, slides his hands under his tank to trace the rippling muscles on his back, the familiar lines of his tattoo, feeling all the tension in his body start to disperse.

Kissing him like this has always been as easy as breathing; there's no room for misinterpretation between them when they're this close. It feels like nothing else in the world exists but his mouth and his hands and his senseless swears and the quiet, pleased moans that he can't get enough of. It's different now, though; it's never been this urgent before, lips colliding and sliding over each other chaotically, hard and messy and _desperate_ , tongues enthusiastically roaming each other's mouths, wanting to taste everything at once.

Ronan pulls away panting after what feels like hours and feels like much too soon. He meets his eyes again before slipping his fingers under the hem of his shirt, almost like asking for permission. Adam nods immediately, skin shivering from the slight touch, wanting Ronan to feel as much of him as possible, and he yanks it over his head in one quick, smooth motion.

He leans in and kisses his mouth again, sweeter now, full of the earnest, deliberate affection that always leaves him delightfully lightheaded, before letting his eyes wander down over his freshly-bare skin.

Ronan's seen him with his shirt off more than a few times now — he'd skimmed his fingertips along his collarbones and gently pressed his lips to the freckles scattered over his shoulders like every inch of skin revealed was an indescribable gift — but he's never felt this _exposed_ before. There's a different kind of naked, immediate hunger in his eyes. One that sends a hot thrill down his spine and raises the pores all over his body and makes his blush crawl to the tips of his ears. He doesn't tear his eyes away from Ronan's face, though: he's just staring at him, lips parted, breath bated, like he's been waiting for this for a long time. He wants to soak in this feeling, wants to stand still and let the reality of it wash over him again and again. He's never felt this acutely _wanted_ before, physically, essentially, all-consumingly. He's never wanted someone to know _all_ of him the way Ronan looks like he's _aching_ to right now, like he always has been.

He reaches out and touches the inside of his wrist, like an _It's okay_ , and Ronan's eyes spark, bright and alert again. He squeezes his hand before letting go and drawing closer again, hands joining eyes in his careful exploration now.

He slowly, gently trails his fingers from the side of his neck over his collarbone and then down the centre of his chest.

He follows his fingers with his mouth. 

Adam leans back into the door, taking deep breaths, one hand grazing over the curve of Ronan's buzzed head, the other braced against the wall next to him. It feels like the flat, solid surface behind him and Ronan's arm around his hips, his body pressed flush in front of him are the only things holding him up at this particular moment.

Ronan murmurs something that sounds like _God, you're fucking beautiful_ against his breastbone and he's sure his knees are going to give out. He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, checking to see if this is _actually_ happening to him right now.

Ronan kisses his way back up his chest until his face is buried in his neck and he's eagerly sucking a mark there, his lips warm and full and wet, the tip of his tongue sending a spike of arousal to his core like a jolt of electricity, his fingers counting his ribs and then skimming the tender skin on his waist, heading to a clear destination.

Adam leans closer into his body, hands on his shoulders, then his back, then his ass, centering himself, trying to not get lost in it. Willing himself present and aware. He wants to _feel_ all of it, wants to revel in it, wants to remember every brush of lips and skin the day after and the year after. He can feel that Ronan's hard against his thigh and he knows he's not far behind at the rate they're going.

Then, he feels Ronan's fingers dip below the waistband of his jeans and without thinking about it, he reaches down and catches them before he can go any further. "Wait," he says against his cheek.

Ronan raises his head questioningly.

"You first," Adam says breathily.

"Yeah?" he says, straightening so they're back on the same eye-level.

"Yeah." He only barely manages to keep his voice steady.

Ronan slowly slides his hands off his hips and steps back from him, looking to him for how to proceed. He doesn't think he's ever consciously felt this out of control before, but he's fine with for the first time in his life: letting this feeling carry them along like a cresting wave, trusting himself and Ronan to keep their heads above water, holding on to each other through the most intense parts of the storm. He's sure he looks like a wreck, hair mussed-up, neck sporting more than one extremely pronounced love bites, utterly debauched, but Ronan isn't much better: mouth kiss-bruised and chest heaving and usually pale skin enticingly pink all over. Adam flicks his eyes over to the bed and takes a half a minute to regain some semblance of composure as he watches him turn around and head over to his mattress. 

Ronan sprawls on his bed the way he always does, looking simultaneously like he belongs there and like he could never truly belong anywhere that's not a fantastical, impossible dreamland. His tank rides up as he settles back on a pile of (mostly) dream pillows and stretches his arms above his head and the strip of bare skin is nothing he hasn't seen before — he's seen more, he's _touched_ more — but it feels almost illicit now. Even the familiar parts of him feel new and heady and miraculous in the light of what they're about to do.

He runs a hand through his hair before lowering himself onto the edge of his mattress. Ronan doesn't move over, just stares at him, expectantly, longingly. He takes a breath before shifting over as smoothly as possible, crossing one leg over Ronan's body so that he's straddling his thighs.

He puts his hands on his hips to anchor himself before bending down and kissing a line across the exposed skin on his stomach. He hears Ronan's breath hitch. He doesn't hesitate before tugging Ronan's tank up and off his body, balling it up and tossing it over his shoulder and onto the floor. He slowly slides his splayed palm up his torso, memorising the feel of his hard abs and his fevered skin, the small tremors of his body under his touch. He's flushed from his neck all the way down to the middle of his chest. He can't help leaning in and mouthing at one of his pecs, tasting salt and sweat and skin, and then gently teasing at his nipple with his tongue just to hear him draw in a sharp breath between his teeth and let out an aborted "Fuck." He smiles into his skin, leaving a soft kiss over his heart, before raising his gaze to his face . 

He can feel the _need_ in Ronan's body now, like a real, living, beating thing, from the tension in his muscles, the way he pulls him impossibly closer, arms tight around his waist, his fingers grasping at his back for purchase, the hardness in his jeans pressed into his stomach. It feels wild and wonderful and unfathomable that someone like _Ronan_ — strange and powerful and otherworldly, capable of dreaming light and life into being — can be rendered so vulnerable just by simple, human desire, by desire for _him_. It feels like being given a precious, infinite source of joy that he'll never stop being in awe of and thankful for, that he wants to keep and protect, that he wants to return a million times over.

He leans down and trails open-mouthed kisses along Ronan's jawline, and then over his pulse point, the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, the hollow between his collarbones.

He kisses his mouth, Ronan's eyelids fluttering shut, before reaching down between them and cupping him through his jeans.

He makes a low moan in his throat, hips struggling to stay still on the mattress, and his fingers curl around Adam's shoulder blades as he presses his face into this neck.

"It's okay," Adam says into his ear. "Lie back."

Ronan does as he's told, sliding lower on the bed, head thrown back onto the pillows, eyes closed, hands loosely clutching at the sheets on either side of him, as Adam crawls back down his body and unbuttons his bulging jeans, unzips them. Ronan lets out a small sigh at the modicum of relief it provides.

He hesitates for just a second before pulling his pants and underwear down his legs until they're around his ankles and Ronan hastily kicks them off onto the floor. He figures there'll be other times to go as slow as they want. They've waited long enough for this.

"God. Shit," he says, mouth going dry at the sight of him, his own stiff dick twitching in his constrictive jeans. He's too focused on Ronan right now to even absently consider touching himself to reduce some of the tension coiled inside him, though — he'll have his turn.

He hears Ronan manage a strained laugh. "Jesus Christ, Parrish, don't be a tease," he says but it's too weak to be a real admonishment.

"Oh, _shit_ — _God_ , Ronan — what do you want — tell me —" he says, feeling like he's going slightly insane. _Fuck_ , he really hopes he isn't ruining everything by having a panic attack over Ronan's naked body.

Ronan laughs again, but it's not harsh; he sounds just as dazed as Adam feels. " _Please_ — just touch me."

The desperation in his voice is enough to instantly snap him back into his body and into his current reality. It's enough to make him want to do anything Ronan could possibly ask for. It feels like he _could_ do anything. If this is a universe where Ronan Lynch is naked in his bed and begging him to touch him, then anything and everything is possible. He wants to do something crazy. Like jump out of a plane. It's probably the adrenaline. Maybe it's what love feels like. He puts that thought away for later, though, because it's _definitely_ not the right moment to blurt out anything even _close_ to that particular sentiment. And there'll be other opportunities. All they have is time now.

He breathes in before reaching out and gently closing his hand around him, licking his lips and swallowing hard as he adjusts to the feel of him, the heat, the way he fits in his palm, the steady throbbing against his fingertips. He's well aware that Ronan's using every ounce of restraint he has not to move, his grip on the sheets tightening, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

He presses down on the slit with his thumb to see what happens and Ronan's hips thrust up just a fraction, seeking any friction he can get. He makes an almost keening sound in his throat.

"Okay," he tells him soothingly. He tightens his hand around him, holding him firmer now, before starting to stroke.

He figures neither of them are going to last especially long — because of all the making out in the car and before that at the theatre and because they've probably both been imagining this for a long time and because of the undeniable fact that even after everything, they're both still just teenage boys — but it's okay. They have time to learn all the different ways to touch each other, to slowly unravel each other and put each other back together. Over and over again.

He still wants to make it good for him, though. He picks up the speed after a bit, encouraged by the breathless noises and profanities spilling freely from Ronan's lips, by how hot and silky he is in his hand, copiously leaking over his stomach now. 

When he thinks he has to be almost at the edge, he loosens his fist slightly and slides his hand down to the base of his dick, his strokes coming shorter and slower now. And then before he can think about it, he leans in and experimentally draws the head between his lips, flicks his tongue over the tip, tasting him.

He feels Ronan's thigh muscles tense under him, hears him let out a sharp gasp. " _God_ , I'm really fucking close —"

He doesn't move his mouth for a few more seconds, though, still breathing hotly over him. He just pumps him once, twice more, and then he pulls off right as Ronan comes with a long, guttural moan all over Adam's stomach.

Adam climbs off of him and sits back at the head of the bed next to where he's lying, spent and boneless, their legs tangled together, as they catch their breaths, as they try to begin to form coherent thoughts again. 

Ronan passes him his discarded tank that he'd apparently retrieved from wherever it had landed and he wipes them both off as efficiently as possible. They're both quiet for a moment before Ronan looks across at him, his face relaxed and unguarded, and says, almost reverently, "That was really good." Adam watches him as he reaches for one of his hands and brings it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles and then pressing his fingertips to his lips. He feels his warm breath on his skin before he sucks two of his fingers into his mouth. He feels his burning tongue wash over them and it goes straight to his straining dick.

" _God_ , Ronan —"

Ronan releases his hand, his fingers slipping out of his mouth with a soft, wet pop, before leaning in and kissing his mouth instead, making it as hot and filthy as possible. He shifts so that he's almost halfway on top of him, licking his mouth open, cupping his jaw with one hand as the other drifts down his body and swiftly undoes his pants. He sighs into Ronan's mouth when Ronan's fingers lightly trail over him before thumbing at the head through the thin cotton. His fingers are hooked into the waistband of his underwear when Adam feels him hesitate.

"What's wrong?" he whispers against his lips.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just —"

"What?"

"Can I blow you?" he asks, eyes dark and imploring, the question feeling weighty and important somehow. Like he needed to ask it in words. Like he needs to know for sure.

Adam's gaze softens and he nods slowly. "Yeah. God. _Please_ ," he says, voice hoarse, on the very brink of deliriousness, apparently unable to speak in anything but monosyllables at this precise moment in time.

Ronan smiles at him, languid and content, before sliding over so that Adam's looking up at him instead. Adam attaches one hand firmly to his hip to ground him, the other gently splayed over the nape of Ronan's neck for encouragement. It feels strangely like scrying: soaring fast and far into the unknown but always with a familiar tether to pull you back. He knows now that that's what this is, what _Ronan_ is: adrenaline and pounding hearts and wild, fierce joy and freedom and magic and stillness and safety and home all at once.

Ronan brushes his mouth to Adam's, the column of his throat, ghosts his lips over his collarbones, his ribs, the planes of his stomach, lightly grazes his teeth over the jut of his hipbone, before kissing a path down the sparse trail of hair leading below his underwear.

He hungrily mouths at the dampness already leaking through the fabric before he slides them off along with his pants. He looks at him like he's been dreaming of this moment every night and he's half-expecting to wake up right now. He's always said that he knows the difference, but Adam can all too keenly sense the surreality of this himself. It doesn't seem anything like his actual life; as strange as that's become, nothing that's ever happened to him has felt as ludicrous and amazing as this does. Ronan finds his gaze, then, like he needs something from him before he keeps going. Adam doesn't say anything, can't even imagine what would be the appropriate response even if he could string two words together right now; he just nods again, strokes his thumb over the back of his neck reassuringly and Ronan looks back down at him.

He carefully wraps one hand around the base of him. He kisses the head before sucking it into his mouth the way he'd sucked on his fingers. It's like making out taken to an unimaginable extreme: nothing else truly exists but Ronan's mouth on him right now. He thinks he can feel it at every single nerve-ending in his body, like a lightning strike, like pure, unconscious bliss. The world fades out around him and all they are is sensation and skin and breath and heat. 

Ronan's unpractised but determined and the heat of his mouth around him and the way he furls his tongue over him like he's thirsty for him is almost enough to make him come on the spot. He takes him in slightly deeper and Adam makes a ridiculously embarrassing noise that's practically a whine. It only seems to add more fuel to his fire, though, mouth moving over him like his life depends on it.

He lets out a breathless laugh. "God, slow down if you want this to last more than five seconds —"

Ronan reluctantly pulls off and smirks at him like he couldn't care less. "I've wanted this for so fucking long, you don't even know —" he says fervently, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, his ass.

" _Ronan_ —"

"Shh. Let me take care of you, okay?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before his mouth's back on his dick and all Adam can manage is a slurred "Okay," his fingers lightly tracing over the dip at the base of Ronan's skull.

He closes his eyes for a few breaths, basking in it, but he doesn't want to miss it either. He cracks them open and looks down and _Jesus_ — it's an overwhelming sight to behold, Ronan's sinful, gorgeous lips stretched around him, his tongue swirling around the head with every stroke.

He gently touches his fingers to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, as his rhythm grows even faster. He can feel the outline of himself there. It's almost too much to bear.

"I'm gonna —" he says urgently, helplessly.

Ronan just meets his eyes and slips one of his fingers into his mouth too — and it's all over then. Ronan keeps greedily sucking at him through the aftershocks and he's pretty sure his entire brain goes offline for a few seconds from the sheer intensity of all of it and he's more than pretty sure it's the best orgasm of his life.

He thinks Ronan's about to gag for an unnerving moment but then he inhales deeply through his nose and swallows before pulling off. 

"You're fucking insane, you know that?" he says, stunned, before dragging him back up his body to kiss him, his bottom lip, his cheek, his chin, the taste of himself on his skin strange but thrilling.

"Good, huh?" he says, not entirely achieving the smug tone he's obviously going for. He sounds just as awestruck and disbelieving as Adam feels.

He just stares at him, wide-eyed. "That was fucking _amazing_. What the hell?"

"I've been thinking about doing that a lot," Ronan admits quietly.

"Yeah? And the real thing?" Adam asks tentatively.

"Much better," Ronan murmurs with an appreciative nod.

Adam smiles at him before leaning in and kissing him softly, gratefully, again.

*

They're lying curled together afterwards, Adam's head on his shoulder, too exhausted and sated to move; one of Ronan's hands on his waist, idly tracing lines over Adam's palm with the other.

"Did you just write 'U R HOT' on my hand?" he asks drowsily. His mouth quirks in amusement, but he doesn't open his eyes.

Ronan's hand goes still above his and he's silent for a minute before he says, "Thought you were asleep." And then, "Maybe."

Adam opens his eyes just to roll them at him. "You're such a romantic."

"I try my best, babe," Ronan says with a shit-eating grin.

"Guess that answers my question, then."

"What question?"

Adam just holds his gaze.

"Seriously? You're asking me if I _like_ -like you _now_?" he asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

" _No._ I mean — Yeah. We haven't really talked about it." He shrugs.

"I think I'd rather _kiss_ about it, to be honest," Ronan says, straight-faced. 

"Shut up." And then, more tactfully, "We could always do both."

"Okay, fine." Ronan takes a deep, dramatic breath before saying it: "I definitely, absolutely, one-hundred-percent _like_ -like you, Parrish."

"So, this is for real, right?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. Do you want me to ask you to go steady? Do you want me to dream you a promise ring —"

"Don't be a shithead. I'm being serious here —" 

"Yeah, you don't like that?" he teases. "What do you want me to be then?"

"I don't know," Adam says, pretending to think about it. "You _could_ be my boyfriend instead."

"God, _shut up_." 

"Is that a no?"

"Fuck off. You know it's a yes."

"Yeah?" he says, feeling a disgustingly fond smile about to break over his face.

"Yeah."

"Good. For the record, I think you're…passably hot too," he says casually.

"Of course you do, Parrish," he says. "It's a cross I have to bear."

"Maybe I should change my mind about this whole boyfriend thing," Adam says thoughtfully.

"Nope, it's already done. No take-backs."

Adam smirks at him. "You're such an unbelievable sap, Lynch."

Ronan doesn't deny it. 

"Shut up and go to sleep, asshole."


End file.
